The Epilogue

The tale of four brave vampires was told in the role-play "A Cursed Existence" over the course of an almost one-year long haul. This tale can be found behind these two links:

Thread 1: http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1482672-a-cursed-existence-rp-thread/

Thread 2: http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1503778-a-cursed-existence-rp-thread-ii/

OOC (open discussion): http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1510431-a-cursed-existence-rp-ooc-4-open-discussion/

What follows now is the story of what happened after the events of the second thread. The tale of Feng, the vampire, has been told to a fullness, but the story of her fledglings lives on. Before them is a choise that'll decide their future. Follow the tale of A Cursed Existence and the three cursed fledglings a while longer, to see where their thoughts really rest. Welcome to the end of the journey. Welcome, to the Epilogue.

Ali, witch's cabin

The witch smiled, wizened and wrinkled. Ali trusted her, though he couldn't say why. They would all be saved. All of them... he had forgotten Jeanne, for one blessed moment, he had forgotten what he had done to her. But now it returned, the same brutal realization. They would be cured, but Jeanne would not. She would suffer an eternity for what Ali did. The witch talked on, soothing and protecting them. He wanted to surrender himself to her, to let her gentle kindness wash over his tired body.

"When Feng first became infected, it was her lover's doing. They fought a bloody battle, Feng triumphing over a beast of the night, but paid the grandest of prices for doing so. She became a beast herself, no longer beautiful, but wounded and scarred. But the worst of it... She slew the one thing that could've helped her now. Her lover." Ali glanced at Rayf, who regarded the witch blankly. What did she mean?

"No, not because of the love he or she felt to one another, no no. Not at all. For you see, her lover, was the vampire who infected her." The witched paused. Ali leaned forward. He could see Rayf do the same, listening closely know. Ali thought he understood what the witch was saying...

"Her direct connection to the original vampire, Lamae Beolfag, and thus Molag Bal, was in him; her lover, her origin." the room was silent. "The only way to cure vampirism of the Volkihar origin that I have learned of over countless years of existence, is to cut the freshest link to the origin with a precise and thorough practice. The sacrifice of both body and soul of the matron vampire is needed, for no other way is strong enough to cut away the long hand of Molag Bal's power." Again, Ali felt the dagger, imbedded in his flesh, twist. Another sacrifice, another compromise. One more crimson stain in an effort to achieve a goal of good.

Suddenly, Ali wondered why he trusted the witch. It was not kindness that shaped her features, but curiosity, and kind of cold, detached amusemant. She reveled in the decision she handed to them, marveling in their agony. He had told himself he was more worthy than the people they had killed, that they were nothing but cattle. But how could he hold himself above another, he who killed one of the few people who had shown him kindness in his bleak existence?

"Bring me the soul of Feng, the vampire, and I can bring you free from your curse. Do this, and I can return to you what you once lost." The witch had produced a great mass of crystal and an ornate silver dagger, humming with arcane energy. And let your first act as a human be betrayal. Reclaim what was lost, and take your place among the living and lead a virtuous life. Blood cannot wash blood. Without Feng, you would have been another Clain, just a hell spawn. She gave you purpose. And now you would kill her?

Ali stared at Rayf, trying to decipher the thoughts behind his eyes. What could he make of this?

"Before you decide though, there's someone dear I'd like you two to meet." The witch led them to another room, where she pushed open the door, eyes glinting with that callous amusemant. Inside, Jeanne lie, eyes closed, her hand still gripping the dagger. For a moment, Ali's anger flared. The witch didn't deserve to desecrate this thing too, which had been theirs. Then he looked closer, watching how her eyelids would flutter, ever so slightly. What had the witch done? She was alive, undeniably. She had to be. Hope sprang in Ali. Could Satakel at last be smiling on him? He knelt by her side, trying to find a pulse before remembering Jeanne wouldn't have. But the crimson wound had closed, a thin layer of scar tissue separating it and the blood beneath.

Ali began to sob, laughing and crying at once. He thanked Satakel, he thanked Ruptga, he even thanked Jeanne's Eight. Finally, he stood, still laughing softly. "You can heal her, then? You can make her wake up?" Ali felt the relief spreading over his chest, like the shadows he embraced in the dark wood had been driven from his soul, from the world entirely. She would wake up, and then what? Ali couldn't seem to think beyond then, for now, he was only happy, the decision he would have to make all but forgotten.

The Witch

"Jeanne here will wake up when her body feels it is ready. I have done all I can, which is saying a lot, but the final decision of waking up or leaving for good rests in her. We can only wait." She mused, enjoying the look Rayf and Ali gave. She let them marvel for a moment longer, then headed for the door, leaving the trio of fledglings alone in the bed-room. "Come find me, if you need me. I'm sure you have plenty to talk about..." she gave them a sly smile, then disappeared into the living-room, full of amusemant.

Rayf

The three companions were finally defeated. Their tenacity was fierce, but it couldn’t match the effortless relentlessness of the sun. After a while, Rayf ceased to see the way, and simply struggled to step forward, although what constituted ‘forward’ was all but a guess now. He avoided the blurry shadows that surrounded him; whether they were men or trees, he couldn’t tell anymore. He stumbled as his mind focused on the next step; and the next; and the next; until his mind was no more, and his body collapsed into the snow. In one last, brief moment of consciousness, as the whole world was cut off from him, all that was left was a strangely pleasant experience of peace and silence, and so Rayf finally rested.

There was no telling how much time had passed, or where he was anymore. The deep plunge into the void shattered all concept of space and time, but eventually, his mind reemerged to the sound of voices. He opened his eyes and slowly took in his surroundings. It was definitely not how he imagined afterlife to look like, so mundane and worldly; but more importantly it wasn’t how he imagined it feeling like either. His body ached due to a plethora of wounds that, even though healed for the most part, were still making sure that they wouldn’t be forgotten. No, surely it couldn’t be death; a thought that the witch confirmed shortly after. Feng was discussing the cure with her, and Ali was there as well. Rayf smiled as he came to the realization that they actually made it somehow. He just barely resisted the urge to celebrate, at least in the presence of the witch - he knew to tread lightly around those, as did most Forsworn. His smile didn’t last for long though, and quickly vanished when they spoke of some... complications. The references to so-called princes were beyond Rayf’s knowledge of the world, but they weren’t needed to understand that Feng’s salvation was beyond the witch’s abilities. Seeing the old vampire run out in tears, as her whole world fell apart, was wildly disturbing for the Reachman, but his instinct to follow her was denied by a gesture from the witch. Apparently, there was more. Rayf stared blankly at her, unwilling to believe her when she told them that their humanity would cost Feng’s sacrifice. Rayf gulped, feeling as if all his blood left his body in a heartbeat.

The witch didn’t wait to witness the shock of these news in the young vampires, and instead, she threw yet another surprise at them. They weren’t the only ones that were brought here; Jeanne was there too, lying down and still holding the bone that symbolized his - or rather, her - spiritual guide. Dead? Undead? Neither? It was unclear. The sight triggered an emotional outburst from Ali, and in response, the witch seemed to imply that she could still live - although she didn’t seem confident in that possibility. And with that, she left them to a bittersweet mixture of news.

Rayf sat with his legs crossed beside Jeanne, and rested his hand on Ali’s shoulder. He couldn’t find the words to say, but the gesture might hopefully convey to the Redguard that he wasn’t alone in this. Rayf remained collected with a thoughtful look in his eyes, which now rested on Jeanne. He let go of Ali and instead grabbed his axe, which he held by his side, then he stroke the wooden floor with its handle. It wasn’t too hard of a knock that might show an intent to produce damage, and his face expressed no anger that could explain it. Around one second later, he did it again. And again. And again. A steady rhythm of soft knocks on wood established the pattern for the ritual that was meant to show the way for lost spirits to follow back to the material world. Without opening his mouth, he hummed a low-pitched guttural melody in a melancholic tune. It would summon feelings of loss, to most ears. The sound was deep, but soft, as it wasn’t meant to draw unwanted attention from the spirit world. Rayf closed his eyes and repeated the melody in a predictable pattern. He sniffed, trying to deal with a runny nose between short breaks for air, containing the tears that tended to fall when the whole clan used to unite around a fallen friend at night, and sing it together from the mountaintops of the Reach.

Jeanne Viera Valerius

An unfamiliar sound called at her in the distance, interrupting her dreamless sleep. Jeanne slowly opened her eyes and looked out the window.

Chapel bells? Is it morning already?

The sun peeked through the curtains of her bedroom window. She pushed the blankets away and sleepily climbed out of bed. She tip toed across the cold floor and reached up to pull the curtains aside. The sunlight burst through the window glass and illuminated the little girl's bedroom with a soft orange glow. Jeanne quickly moved over to her dresser and found a set of stockings and a clean undershirt. She wanted to show her mother that she was old enough to dress herself now. She wiggled out of her frilly nightgown and put it on her bed before she methodically pulled on her stockings and undershirt before walking over to the chest at the end of her bed where she kept all her nice clothes. Her choir was going to sing during the sermon today so she would have to look her very best. She decided on the baby blue cotton dress with silver buttoning in the back and black lacquered shoes. She laid the dress out on the bed and placed the shoes on the floor next to it before she undid the long braid she kept her hair in every night.

She wandered over to the little vanity to get her hairbrush, then began pacing around the room while she brushed her long locks of blonde hair to perfection. She stopped by the window and looked at the city unfolding in front of her. Were the bells still ringing at the chapel? She reached up to the lock on her window and after a bit of fumbling managed to get the window open.

"How strange."

It was not the sound of bells that came from the chapel in the distance. It sounded more like some sort of drum. And was that singing she heard? She tried to stand on her toes to look out the window, but she barely managed to get her chin over the window sill. It didn't feel right. Nobody played music like that in the chapel.

Jeanne took a step back and continued brushing her hair, puzzled by the strange music ringing through the city. A cold breeze snuck in through the open window, bathing her in the scent of moss and dirt and sweat. Her hairbrush bumped against something at the back of her neck. Surprised by the unfamiliar feeling, she dropped the brush and it clattered against the wooden floor.

She reached up to her neck and wrapped her hand around the strange object. She pulled it loose and held it up against the light. The sunlight glistened in the blood that covered the slender huntsman's arrow.

- - - - - - - - - -

She awoke with a shock and sat up in the small bed. Still clutching the ritual bone dagger in her hands, she stared straight ahead with a cloudy look in her eyes.

Rayf

Rayf’s somber murmur was punctuated by the sharp knocks on the floor. Each strike of his handle on the wooden floor echoed across the room; each as predictable and unremarkable as the previous one - until the one that woke her. Suddenly a great boon ensued! Life sprung into her body like it does only in ancient myths. Her limbs moved and her eyes opened; but as the priestess gained motion, it seemed to have been lost on the incredulous warrior from far-away mountains. He seemed petrified, unable to muster a reaction. His murmur stopped, his arm rested immobile in mid air, and his axe would not touch the floor once more. What terrible machination could be deceiving his eyes? Surely it couldn’t be. Her death was painfully witnessed by his very eyes, and the memory was still too fresh to be doubted. Could this be a trick from the witch? Or maybe the gods that the priestess followed held her in such regard to warrant this gift? Could it be that the beastly spirit of his dagger guided her through a path that would otherwise seem impossible to follow? Either way, he chose to ignore all the whys and hows, and instead he accepted this blessing without question, for fear of it being taken away. He lunged at her and hugged her with little regard for her comfort. A tear of joy merged with one of sorrow that had just dried up; though he wouldn’t let them see the once mighty warrior cry, so he quickly wiped his face on his shoulder and faced his reborn companion with an absent-minded smile.

“We made it!” he exclaimed. “We made it to the cure!” As he completed the thought, he was quickly reminded of the cruel nature of their salvation, and what it entailed. Updating Jeanne to the latest piece of news wouldn't be as easy as it seemed. His smile vanished. “But, there’s a... problem. We must...” He paused and looked away from their companions, ashamed of his own thoughts. “To be cured, we have to...” He paused again, and frustrated by his lack of resolve in completing a simple sentence, he stood up and walked up to a window. He searched for other words; the right words. He knew what had to be done, but he knew it was wrong. The right words had to be chosen, not just to convince his companions, but more importantly, to convince himself. “Good things come at a cost; such is the way of the world. Good souls forgo their bodies to stand against the usurpers. The elders die so we can feed our children. Sometimes even a mother dies with the birth of a new warrior! All for a greater good! And in this war, a great sacrifice must be done.” Rayf struggled to rally himself against this moral threat, but he barely believed in the valour of this choice, after all, Feng’s motherly care kept the group alive, and like the heat from the forge that crafts the strongest steels, so does the joint survival of great perils craft the strongest ties. Yes, it was wrong, but Rayf couldn’t quite contemplate any alternative. “Feng must die.”

Feng, a strange place both body and soul, sometimes in time.

What was the purpose of life? To live it warm and happy, in the comfort of friends and family or to seek adventure, fame and fortune? To take from others as a capturer of lands and cities? To command as a just ruler of an empire or to protect what you held dear as a soldier in an army? Or was the purpose of life merely to exist, as long as one possibly could, in the vastness of the universe?

How did a perpetual undead corpse fit into the grand picture that was life? Vampires. A simple word for something so complex; a silent stalker and perfect predator, an uncanny being that existed outside the rules of life.

Given that the answer to life's purpose would be known, which it certainly wasn't, what then would a vampire's purpose be? To be the black plague, the shadow that came with light, unholy and untamed? A chaotic evil in the delicate balance that was nature as an integral part of it all?

Or was the question too wide to be answered altogether; each piece of the board able to make up their own mind of what their purpose was? A daunting thought, certainly. Given free choice in all matters, what remained but true anarchy? If there was indeed no holy or unholy, but merely a thousand shades of corruption in-between, what then was the ultimate goal? If each string struggling to exist pulled in different directions, wouldn't the end result be stagnation? To be caught in the web of time, doomed to fill the shoes of purposeless vessels just as your ancestors had before you?

Leaving a mind to wander aimlessly on it's own was dangerous, but lighting up a path of despair for it to follow was to guide it straight towards your own insanity. Some corners of the mind were not meant to be explored, twice the more true for a cursed being. Yet here she sat, letting her mind do irrevocable damage to her by peeking into pits of pitch black sadness, loneliness and fear. To be a pawn of fate was not going to cut it; a new purpose to cling to was needed, no matter how frail it was in the eyes of the universe. Feng spat at her own weakness. Where was that cold side of her she'd been pushing away for far too long? Perhaps it was time to embrace it fully, let it guide her path; a pillar to lean on when all else failed. Fear gnawed at her again. She knew what it meant to let go and let the beast within her take over foreve. Was she willing to pay the price?